Page 17 of Expressionate
"My bio mom was a hippy," she says. "End of story." I know that's not the end of the story because there's a catch in her voice that's deeper. It scrapes the surface of her words, barely there, probably indiscernible for the average person – for someone not listening as closely as I am. There's only so much she's giving me. I'll take it all and examine it with a fine-toothcomb.
I hum as I pop off the tire, grunting as I lay it aside, and reach for the new one I've retrieved from the mechanic shop. "You said 'bio mom’," I comment as I slide the new tire into place and grab my tools to screw the bolts in once more. "Most people who make that differentiation don't have a good relationship with theirparents."
"It's really none of your business," shesays.
I can tell by her tone that I'm edging into dangerous territory. Something I may not want to do. Not that I should be one to judge. It’s not like I’m on speaking terms with the bitch that gave birth to me or the bastard that fathered me. I sigh and switch topics. "So, Love," I say, "why thatname?"
She props her elbows on her knees and leans her chin in her hands, watching me. "Why is that so important to you?" she asks with a frustrated huff. “Was my explanation notenough?"
I shrug. "Just making conversation. It's a uniquename."
She mutters something under her breath and turns her gaze away before she glances back at me. Her deep green eyes catch mine. Goddamn, those eyes are like a smoky fog, drawing me in, begging me to get lost in their depths. I almost let myself, but she still hasn't answered myquestion.
"Most hippies would stick to nature names, right?" I say. "Something like Daisy or Flora or Fauna? WhyLove?"
She sighs deeply as if she's tired all of a sudden. "I guess she thought it was pretty. My dad said that she believed the name a person has predicts the kind of life you'll have. I guess she hoped that I would have a lot of love in my life. So, the nameLove."
I hum. "Doyou?"
“If I did, then you might want to rethink a career in accounting,Tax.”
I laugh as she continues watching me work from her position on the parkingblock.
“You’ve got me there,” I say. “No fucking way am I gonna put on a suit and tie every day.” Her lips twitch, but she remains quiet. "Who was that girl that showed up at your apartment the other night?" Iask.
There are several moments of quiet between us, and I think she's going to stop talking altogether when she finally speaks. "That was my sister,Trisha."
"Younger?" I grunt, as I put a little more muscle into turning a particularly difficult bolt. She nods. "Guess that's something we have in commonthen."
She doesn't reply. That’s okay. Let her have her silence – soon, I’ll break her open. My curiosity won’t let menotdive into this mystery girl. I finish attaching the new tire and slowly stand, wiping my hands on the sides of my jeans. She stands and picks up her bag. "Is it finished?" sheasks.
I nod. "Yeah." I bend and heft the flat, unusable tire up and start rolling it toward the back of myJeep.
"You're taking the other one?" She pauses next to the bumper of her car, watching me as I moveit.
I shrug and turn with the tire still in my arms. "Unless you want it, yeah, I was gonna takeit."
"Oh." When she doesn't say anything more, I take that as her acquiesce and I continue to my car. I settle the tire into the trunk where instruments had been stored until this morning. I'm glad Blake and Cross wanted to practice on their own today, otherwise there wouldn't have been room. I'll drop it off with Keith, the mechanic that had gotten me the new tire on such short notice. He'll likely be able to do something with therubber.
"When do you want me to tutor Ally?" Love asks, shifting on her feet. She stands in front of her driver's side door, and I smile, feeling real amusement. Her sad – or are they hurt? – green eyes remain trained on mine and I can't help but want to kiss her to see if she’ll keep them open. I wonder what her lips would taste like. Why do I think her lips would be delicious? Like rivers and oceans of tears. Her eyes should be blue, not green. "Tax?" she prompts, and I realize I've been staring at her since she asked herquestion.
"So, you said you had plans tonight, right?” I clarify, crossing my arms and leaning back against the side of myJeep.
Her eyes widen. "Is that why you were asking me what I was doing tonight?" she asks. "You wanted to know if I could tutorAlly?"
I shrug again. "Yeah, but it's not a big deal if you can't. She still has some time for the project she juststarted."
Her gaze turns downward. I have the distinct feeling that she's counting or organizing her thoughts, making her decision. "I can do it," she finally says, looking back up at me. "I can tutor her tonight if she needshelp."
I laugh. So that's what the quietness had been. I knew she’d been lying to me. People always look to their left when they lie. It's instinctual – something I knew from a gambling father. A striking blush rises to her pale cheeks, spreading across them and down her neck. I bet it would heat under my skin and spread evenfurther.
"Alright," I say, still chuckling, "she'll be waiting at our place any time you want to come over. I'll be home in another fewhours."
She nods and gets into her car. I watch her crank the engine and back up. When she waves to me, it's forced, as if she feels obligated. I smile wider and wave back as she drives off before getting into myJeep.
I get back on the road and instead of turning towards the first shop I went to, to get Love’s new tire, I turn in the opposite direction. Keith has two shops: one on this side of town – where the shops and department stores are, and one on the side of town that sees more graffiti than boutiques. That one was his first shop, and I know it’s hisfavorite.
The roads grow more and more bumpy – the springs on my Jeep picking up every imperfection. I bypass nice residential areas and tall apartment buildings into streets filled with dilapidated homes and sagging front porches. It surprises some people how close the seedy side of life is to the nice side, but never me. Part of the reason I never did well in school was because, while I had grown up with fight nights every weekend and fridges that held more booze than food, I had gone to school with kids who drove Jaguars and Porsches. Despite that, my old Jeep with the rusted front end is still one of the nicer cars in Keith'sneighborhood.
